


All Falls Down

by Lidsworth



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vampire Bard, emotionally distressed thranduil, tumblr meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are not human! You are a monster!”<br/>or<br/>Thranduil finds out the true nature of Bard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Falls Down

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the tumblr torture meme!  
> I apologize for any spelling errors! Enjoy.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit.

Thranduil was not expected to return to Dale for another three days. Indeed his trip to Lothlórien had come to its end, however, the journey back had been predicted to be a long trek. That said, the former Bowman was rather shocked to see the Elven King standing in the door way of his study, and what would have been a gleeful greeting rolling slowly off of his tongue, and morphing into something of horror.

 

Naturally pale as he was, Bard had believed it impossible for his elvish lover to grow a shade lighter. But upon walking into Bard’s study that evening, the King of Dale had been proven rather wrong. In fact, Thranduil looked like he had seen a ghost—and to some extent, he was not far off.

 

Bard could not blame him for his dread, for any normal creature, be it a hobbit, dwarf or even an elf, would have reacted quite the same had they seen a man—or what appeared to be such, clamping his jaws around the neck of a human cadaver.

For all vampires were speculated to be servants of Sauron (as were werewolves), and frankly the harmful stereotype had seen many of his kind and others alike fleeing middle earth or going into hiding.

 

And as Thranduil’s long fingers trailed to his side where his sword hung, Bard considered joining his undead brothers and sisters in their voluntary exile.

 

“Thranduil,” Bard stood from his crouching posture and to full height and took a step forward, allowing the limp body to fall to the ground and at his feet with a thud. Tendrils of blood oozed out of his mouth, encasing his fangs like red ribbon. Unsure blue eyes shifted from the body—that of a known criminal—to the creature standing above it, and Bard wondered whether the King would place his undead life above that of a rapist.

“Thranduil, I can explain—“ Yet in all honesty, he had no idea how to begin.

  
“Silence,” his voice was a low whisper, and Bard could hear the betrayal buried deep within the tone, “Do not move, creature.”  
The emphasis on his inhumanity was severe, though Bard stood his ground at the King’s command. There was an uncomfortable silence as Thranduil’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, evidently struggling against his own morality.

 

The pregnant pause that hung in the air seemed to solidify Thranduil’s opinion of the situation. His demeanor changed into something cold, and he bore his gaze down upon Bard as he would an enemy.

 

“Are you a spy of Sauron,” he finally spoke in an accusing tone, his preconceived ideas of Bard’s nature strengthening his position, “Come to kill the ‘Great Elven King’? Come to gloat about bedding the King of Mirkwood?” He almost faltered when he mentioned their relationship, kingly aurora nearly shattered. But he recollected himself quickly, his tongue speaking the next words shaper than knives “I should have known our relationship would crumble—an elf only loves once—”  
  
Ouch. Even for a dead heart, Bard’s still tore into pieces. Despite himself, he made to defend his feelings for the elf. Even if the situation was falling apart before his very eyes, the King of Dale fought hard to piece together what little of their relationship that he could.

  
“Thranduil! I am no messenger of Sauron! I am a servant of no evil,” he stepped forward again, and with speed only an elf was capable of, the King of Mirkwood drew his sword, “I am still Bard-“ He spoke with such agony that would even rattle Sauron himself, though his pleas fell on deaf ears.  
  
“You are still _Bard?_ Do not mock me, creature. I have seen your kind before. There never was a Bard, I was deceived! Foolish to allow myself to love again,” his voice cracked as he spoke, eyes blinked in quick succession as the elf fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

Then something froze within him. He inhaled sharply, eyes opening once again, now void of the warmth they had held once before. He had sealed off his love, and an immortal Bard may be, no amount of eternity would gain that love back.

  
Thranduil was cautious to open his heart to the Bowman before, and had now closed it at the discovery of Bard’s betrayal.

 

The vampire paled. Their relationship had completely disappeared.

 

“You are not human…you are a monster! You belong to the same Master whose creatures threaten to destroy my home, you belong to the same evil that took my beloved wife,” at the mention of her, Thranduil’s eyes flashed for a slight moment, no doubt recalling the moments in which they had both bonded over the loss of their wives.

 “And you belong to the same evil that threatens to destroy Middle earth.”

 

“Thranduil, no! It isn’t like that!” Forgetting himself completely, the vampire took a step forward. The elf’s blade pointed fiercely at his neck, cool silver burning the pasty skin.

  
“If you come closer—“ Now his façade dropped at Bard’s actions, and for that he vampire was thankful. He could still reach his love.

Though Thranduil’s mind swarmed with more ferocity than the spiders in his forest multiplied.  This was a messenger of great evil! Yet his determination to prove his love betrayed all that Thranduil had been taught, all that he had encountered. His dismay was evident on his face, clearly.

 

The blade lowered slightly to the chest, but never off of the bowman.

 

“What, you will kill me? Thranduil, I am the same Bard. You are greatly mistaken if you think I am deceiving you. My love for you—“ Bard’s breath caught as a coolness sliced into his chest, one that the he  had not felt for ages.

 

There was a look of horror in both of their faces. He had overstepped his boundaries, literally, and walked straight into the blade—made of silver.

 Though Bard held no anger towards his elf, only the look of pure sorrow. Sorrow that a creature of Sauron would never display—certainly not to an elf. Something twitched in the vampire’s features, and he found himself slipping into darkness.

 

A cool hand reached up and caressed the elf’s warm cheek lovingly, issuing both unspoken apology. Thranduil knew that he had made a grave mistake. This was no monster in front of him no matter the vile nature, this was his love.  

 

“Bard…”

 

The coolness inside of Bard morphed into a searing heat as the wound reacted to the metal. A hiss unlike any other erupted from the wound, and a flurry of ash flew out of the gaping hole. The sword was removed immediately and Bard tumbled to the floor, gripping at the deep cut.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Tell me what you think please! Have a wonderful week and God bless!


End file.
